Photo by AbsolutVision on Unsplash
One of my main concerns that is taking up my Twitter feed at the moment is how normalised ableism is in our society.
This blog post was inspired by a Tweet by Kate Stanforth, in which she told the shocking story that, when filling out a form, it was assumed she wouldn’t have an occupation because she was in a wheelchair.
Despite not needing to explain herself to anybody, Kate linked her extensive CV in a follow-up Tweet, showing that she did, in fact, have an occupation, and her wheelchair was not stopping her from that.
It disgusts me that she was immediately stereotyped for her disability, and it just keeps happening again and again to people in the disabled community.
Since reading that tweet, I have seen another post from Rosie Jones, a disabled comedian, stating that she received numerous hateful comments after a TV appearance because of her disability – calling the response from the internet “abusive.”
And even now, most recently, actress Chloe Hayden, who has autism, criticised Sydney’s Marvel Stadium of ableism after refusing her entry to their sensory room at a Harry Styles concert.
She shared her concerns and upset in a post on Instagram, stating “I am goddamn tired.”
Other fans have backed these claims, saying that staff “asked to see diagnosis forms” before allowing them entry to the safe space.
Problems like these shouldn’t keep cropping up, and yet it is a constant battle for people with disabilities to be recognised and accommodated for – and it’s not a new thing.
In the 2021 census, it was revealed there are over ten million disabled people in the UK – so why are we still not seeing accommodations for them?
It’s simple really – people don’t understand how deeply rooted ableism really is in society.
I think it is true that a lot of able-bodied people have a preconceived idea of what a disability should look like, and when it doesn’t match that idea, they assume that the disability isn’t ‘real’ or ‘serious.’
Take ambulatory wheelchair users for example. They are people who can walk or move without a wheelchair, but use one for their ease, comfort and accessibility.
People see that a person in a wheelchair is, say, moving their legs, and immediately assume they don’t need to be in it.
Many people in the disabled community often take to social media to discredit rumours that just because someone uses a wheelchair one day and not another doesn’t make them any less valid, and shared stories of the ‘judgement’ they receive from people who don’t use mobility aids.
It is easy to assign blame to people who don’t experience disabilities, but it’s not fair to only point fingers outside of the community when discussing the whole issue around ableism.
Many people with disabilities suffer from internalised ablism, thinking that because of stereotypes and misconceptions, they are ‘inferior’ because of their disability, and this plays into their self-image and identity.
I have a disability, and even though I was lucky enough to be raised in an open and accepting family, there were still days where I would think that I wished I could be more like my friends who weren’t disabled because of the way I saw disabilities being discussed and viewed.
It’s something that took me years to unlearn, honestly. I had to realise that just because I had a condition that they didn’t have, or experiences they wouldn’t understand, it didn’t make me any less important or valid, and it didn’t make me less of a person in any way.
But even when I raised being told I was ‘no different’ (I don’t even think being different is a bad thing), and I wasn’t defined by my disability, it was still hurtful to hear ignorant comments, mostly from people in my secondary school, that were a reminder that people think there is a certain way to be disabled.
The prime example of this happens around exam season. Due to my condition, I was allowed 25% extra time in exams, and the amount of times I’d hear comments like “you don’t need extra time, you’re really smart” as if my disability and my intelligence couldn’t coexist.
Plus, even if I was “really smart” (that’s up to debate sometimes), that didn’t mean I wasn’t also working five times harder than people to catch up to my non-disabled peers – a lot of my intelligence comes down to gritted-teeth determination to do well.
I got so sick of being told “I wish I had extra time!” as if I was just getting these accommodations for the sake of it, because that was nowhere near the case. And it is yet another example of what I consider to be ableism.
Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash
It was tiring to explain that yeah, sure, I get twenty minutes more than you to finish this essay, but there’s a long history of tests and reviews and appointments and conversations and a million other situations that led up to the extra essay writing time that they probably wouldn’t want.
It wasn’t special treatment; it was just levelling the playing field. Just because I didn’t ‘look’ like I needed these accommodations, it doesn’t mean I didn’t. I just didn’t advertise it in the way I fear disabled people are expected to.
By that I mean I think that there’s an idea that someone has to really show they need certain accommodations to reap the benefits of them ‘properly’, rather than just getting them because they need to and moving on without making a fuss.
The main problem I faced with problems like this from my peers is you don’t want to be a killjoy when they assume it’s just a throwaway comment, but that’s the issue with ableist speech like this: people don’t think about what they’re saying – and that is always going to be hurtful.
It was comments like this that always left a sour taste in my mouth – because I deserved every accommodation I received in school, and yet there was always someone saying that I didn’t, because I didn’t fit into their closed minded view of what a disabled person should be.
I’ve found that people are often surprised to even find out I am disabled, because they say, “you don’t look it!” and I’ve started to respond “well, how would I?”
I have always tried to prove to myself that I could achieve just as much, if not more, than people who seemed to think that because I have a disability, I was automatically boxed into their preconceptions of what a disability should be.
I have achieved that and then some.
I ran (and won) races at the Junior Disability Games when I was in high school. I passed all my GCSE’s, and A-Levels and finished my first year of my journalism degree with a first. I have worked part time and full-time jobs since the age of 14, and I have been published in anthologies for my short stories, poetry and monologues. I have raised money for charities and forged my own identity.
Photo by Henry & Co. on Unsplash
And the thing is, I shouldn’t have to prove myself like this. It’s not fair that because I was born with something I feel like I have to validate my achievements because there’s a collection of people out there who just assume I wouldn’t be able to do things like this.
One thing I’ve learned is that my disability is a part of life, so I just don’t buy into the idea that I have to act like it’s an inconvenience.
Sure, it would have been easier to not have as many hospital appointments growing up and it’s a little annoying just how much I need my glasses (“wow you really ARE blind!” someone says, trying them on and laughing) but I am still grateful for the care I received from a lot of the people in my life.
The thing that annoys me the most about ablism is there’s so many people out there challenging these misconceptions and sharing information that people can use to educate themselves, but people just won’t.
I said above I was lucky to grow up with accepting family and friends, who just took it in their stride and were always willing to learn and adapt as I grew up.
I will always be grateful for how I was accepted by a lot of the people in my life, and the people I continue to meet who don’t treat me as a fragile entity but respect my boundaries and limitations.
But there are always going to be people who just stay ignorant.
It’s not the job of people in the disabled community to keep telling people “you can’t say that” and “that’s offensive” and reminding others that there is no one way to be disabled.
It leaves a lot of the community to be open to backlash when they are constantly repeating themselves against ableism, because it runs the risk of them sounding like martyrs for trying to break down these barriers.
And it is tiring. It’s exhausting to be the Google of the group – “can I say this? What does that mean? What about saying this to them?”
Like yes, take the cues from people in the community, but remember, it’s not their job to un-teach someone harmful stereotypes.
That can really only come from a genuine desire to learn and do better.
It definitely starts with language – stop saying someone “doesn’t look disabled/autistic/literally anything else” because there really is no ‘look’ that they should have.
Secondly, stop saying the r-word. Every time I hear it, it makes my stomach literally drop. It’s such a hateful word and I really don’t think there’s any situation where it is appropriate to use it at all. Genuinely, stop.
You also have to learn what ableism is – if you go right to the root of the problem and realise where ableism begins, that’s when you can start to challenge your own behaviours and make sure you’re not carrying it across to wider society.
There are books to learn about ableism, but even following social media activists is a good place to start.
Photo by Arisa Chattasa on Unsplash
Advocate for disabled people. Just because you’re not disabled doesn’t mean you can’t help pave the way for people that are – push for greater accessibility, inclusion, rights. Immerse yourself into the ideas that the world needs to accommodate everyone – even if these accommodations aren’t specific to you.
Of course, challenging ableism isn’t just about one person changing their misconceptions. There is a long way to go to make the wider society more accepting and more accessible, but that can’t be down to just one or two individuals.
However, that being said, they can start the advocacy for change on a larger scale. When there are more people than just the disabled community pushing for change, it feels like a united front for things to get better.
It’s 2023 – we should be further along than we are.
I am not assigning blame to every single able-bodied person and calling them ableist, nor am I saying that every person with a disability feels a sense of internalised ableism.
However, what I am saying is that there is a need for change being raised in the media and the disabled community at the moment, and people really, really need to listen.
Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash
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